


Love is like a dragon's blood

by One_eyed_God



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Also my bad humor, Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/F, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-15
Updated: 2014-12-15
Packaged: 2018-03-01 15:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2777468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/One_eyed_God/pseuds/One_eyed_God
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes there's love. It's harsh, it hurts, hurts so bad but it feels also so good. Marian knows that. Yet she doesn't feel good. She wants to vomit this emotion so hard to swallow - because there's a lump in her throat and a weight in her stomach. Isabela sleeps and all Marian wants to say is 'I love you' but no words come out except "please love me."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Love is like a dragon's blood

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first Dragon Age fanfiction published. I hope you all like it! (also one of my first work in English so beware of mistakes!)

“I love you.”  
Her voice came out raw, wrong. It seemed like her throat ached, like it was pierced by a thousand shards, the pieces of her broken heart maybe. It's just sex, don't add love in the mess you've created now. Marian, don't you dare add love. I won't. Too late. I'm such a fool. Oh yes you are. Why do you think I've made a pact with you?  
Shut up.  
"See you Isabela." She whispered. Her lover slept without hearing her words, untouched by her sorrow. It hurt. Hurt, hurt, hurt. She sang quietly, hoping to wake up Isabela, and at the same time wishing to just be gone, to be somewhere - anywhere - else. She should have said no. Always no, don't attach yourself, run, running still running always running.  
You're an apostate Marian, remember that. Worse, a maleficarum - the worst name a mage can have. Run for it, Marian and be like Sera. Sera was never the quietest girl but always Sera ran.

You made a deal with a demon of despair, to see the people you hated miserable. The teenager you doomed to a fate worse than death, a prisoner of the Fade forever. Don’t you hate yourself Marian? You don’t deserve Isabela – or maybe you do. Maybe you’re supposed to love her so much it feels like a thousand shards in your heart (and in your head, don’t listen to the demon, don’t) and she’ll never know.

Marian leaves the room quietly, hoping (wanting) to hear the voice of Isabela, calling her back (she doesn’t). She takes her staff, Malcom’s will, waves it around for a few seconds. It crackles, ready to fight (as am I). She also checks her mail, sighing as she counts the number of letters she has to read, sign and then send back. There’s also a problem at the bone pit, again. Last time it was dragonlings, now what? She inspires, slowly. She feels numb all over (Isabela’s still up there, in the bedroom, the laces of her corsage undone, willing and so, so pretty with blood all over her and –) no. She won’t play with her life, with her security – blood is dangerous. It’s always blood, never a lock of hair (hers could pass for blood) or something else. She thinks she’s already said that once, when she didn’t know who Corypheus was, when she was innocent and didn’t have all this guilt. My blood bound an ancient darkspawn and I helped unleash it.

When they killed Corypheus, she felt so good, so, so good, just like every time she killed. She felt sick, was sick, so sick of everything in this goddamn town and its problems –

Her staff hisses again and she realizes she has closed her grip around it, almost breaking the wood. Her strength was much more important since the deal, but she always forgot. She likes forgetting. It doesn’t help, but it makes her sleep at night, without seeing the little girl who pulled her hair when they were young, the one she screamed at be gone, be gone, leave me alone. The one she pulled into the Fade without an effort and she left there, replaced with Anguish, the demon she made a deal with.

“I need to see what the fuss is about in the pit…” She whispers to herself. She’ll go alone, and if there is something to worry about, she’ll return to take Fenris, Isabela (Maker, no, she can’t bear their flirting, please stop, stop, stop, leave her to me, I need her like I need air) not Isabela, Varric then and Anders, no not Anders (his gaze judges her, as she helps the templars to escape them better, can’t he understand that it’s how she can survive?), Merrill, no not Merrill (seeing her use blood magic so freely makes her feel sick and so, so guilty, because she can do it too, should to ease their fights but she can’t), then Aveline. Aveline feels safe, a sound advice and a rock in the wild oceans.

Hubert tells her that indeed he needs her again, for a caravan has been slaughtered, along with the miners. No he doesn’t know what caused their death, he didn’t stick around to see it, thank you very much. She wants to take his heart out and to make him eat it (so much fresh blood, so much power). When she met Fenris, he asked what she was after. Stick with us and you’ll know. She doesn’t know what she wants, except the constant whispering that she wants blood. Blood and sacrifice – she’s a demon, or she’s close to becoming one. It doesn’t matter. Her family is dead. Bethany to the Blight, Carver too and Mother… Mother to that blasted mage she wants to tear apart again, to make him suffer.  
She can’t, he’s already dead.

“Don’t worry, I’m sure it’s nothing.” She says to reassure the merchant. He shudders, his eyes on her staff. Ah well, she tried to be friendly. For ten years, she was as friendly as possible, sometimes hiding behind good-natured words, but now… Now… It doesn’t matter anymore. The Qunari are gone, their Arishok killed. The Mages and Templars are tearing the city apart, brick by brick and soon there will be no chance of compromise anymore. She doesn’t pray. The Maker has never answered her prayers, why would he now? He took everyone, except Isabela. Maybe she’ll be gone too, soon. Maybe she’ll hate Hawke and leave, like everyone did at one point or another –

It’s a dragon.

She discovers it with shock as she’s thrown in a battle she never wanted to be a part of – at least not alone. She can’t deal with it but maybe, maybe she can distract it, and then run. Her lightning bolt doesn’t do much, and neither does the fireball. She grits her teeth together. Anders is specialized in elemental magic. She throws a horror on the beast, hopes to see it yield. It doesn’t even flinch. Why, she wants to scream. Maybe she does. She can’t hear anything but that awful scream. It’s hers, she realizes. Blood is pouring from her wounds, her power rising. She hurls a rock to the beast who growls at her, shooting fireballs.  
She stops them with a thought (help me, today only today, when there’s no one to know) then concentrates. Lightning comes out of her hands, scorching, hissing, fizzing. Tempest. Lightning again, from the sky this time, and it hurts the dragon which screeches. It disorientates Marian, for two minutes maybe, but it’s enough. The beast is back on its feet, flying and launching blazing fireballs. A scream.

“Look out!”

She leaps away from the fire, and leaves a trail of blood behind her. The blood slowly takes a humanoid form and it dives toward the dragon, scratching, biting the beast and Marian turns her head, see Isabela hoping on the head of the monster. The high dragon roars to get rid of the things Marian invoked. She takes the time given by them to invoke a tempest again, adding a zest of icing, a tempest of thunder, snow and hail. It’s almost down and Isabela gives the last blow. The monster roars one last time and falls down, a mountain dropping on itself. Marian hasn’t the time to realize the fight is over before another one begins, one she isn’t sure she can win.

“What the hell were you thinking Hawke?”  
“I’m sorry I –” She tries to say but Isabela cuts in.  
“No you’re not ‘sorry’ you’re a fucking moron and I don’t want you to do that ever again because Maker you fucking scared me and I don’t get scared for people okay? Because when I care about someone, it’s someone not stupid enough to put herself in danger like that!”

Silence. Marian tries to think, but the only sound that comes out is a wretched sorry and the sound that tears makes when they slide against a cheek (she cares).

She cares. She cares.

“Of course I care, silly!” Ah, did she say that out loud? “Why would you think – oh Maker, you seriously think I would sleep with someone I don’t care about? We’re not talking about love, we’re talking about friendship and caring is important in any relationship, you moron!”  
“I’m sorry.” Marian repeats.  
“You said that already, twice I think.” Isabela laughs and hugs her, tightly. “Don’t scare me again. Please.” Marian’s hands were on Isabela cheeks and it isn’t her being comforted but the opposite. A kiss, light and sweet on the forehead, then the nose, then the lips.  
“I’m sorry, I won’t scare you again, promise, please, don’t be mad, I’m so sorry” She babbles, ready to leave, but Isabela tightens her grip on her. The duelist has her hands on Marian’s hips, one inside the armor, checking for wounds still bleeding (Marian doesn’t have the heart to tell her any wounds would already be closed by this time – being a blood mage has its perks).  
“It’s okay, Marian… It’s okay.” Isabela breathes slowly. “Oh and. Why didn’t you ever use those skills?! You’re so powerful I mean, I knew you were a powerful mage, but to this point? When I saw you fighting that high dragon… Maker, you could have died and yet you didn’t, you almost killed it all by yourself.”  
‘I… I though you would judge me. Like Anders, Fenris, like all of you judge Merrill.”  
“I don’t actually. Neither does Varric I think. And for all her power, Merrill's still just a kitten. She can wave her claws around, she still won't do much. You, you my dear... You can wreck things; you can kill, destroy, and triumph over anything. You are a panther and with me, you'll conquer oceans.”

Isabela kisses her then, and it sparkles like her lightning before, it burns with passion and something that, despite all Isabela said, feels a little like love. It’s her guilt, her anguish, swallowed in milk and honey, the warmth of the skin against hers, the scent of roses and ashes. Isabela’s right. They’ll conquer oceans (everything for her).

“But I’m a demon…” She whispers against her love(r)’s lips.  
“No you’re not, silly. You’re the Champion of Kirkwall. This town adores you, more so because you’re siding with the templars. Meredith is eating out of the palms of your hands and you’re an apostate. They won’t see us coming, they won’t touch you, because I’ll be in your shadow, waiting to see them move and if they do, then I’ll strike. Varric will watch with me, you can be certain. So will your brother, because he loves you as I – we all do.”

Marian hasn’t missed the slip but she doesn’t talk about it, prefers letting her head falls on Isabela’s shoulder, kissing the patch of skin she finds there.

“First Kirkwall, then the world for you.” She murmurs. She hears Isabela’s breath catch. Everything for you, my love. They stay silent for some time, embracing in dragon’s blood, next to the body. Marian thinks about telling Varric, and maybe Aveline, about Fenris reacting to the relationship between her and Isabela. About Anders understanding that she’s never going to defend mages’ rights like he does.

That time, when meeting Fenris, she should have said survival, because what wouldn’t she do for it?

“Fenris likes you, you know.” She says, remembering some of the conversations she’s had with the elf.  
“Everyone likes me, Marian.”  
“Well, there’s Aveline, Carver, and also –“  
“Those don’t count.”  
“If you say so… Anyway, Fenris likes you, likes you.”  
“You still don’t make any sense dearest…”

New silence, shorter this time.

“You think he would agree to a threesome?”  
“Isabela!”

**Author's Note:**

> Hope it was a good reading! :) Please tell me if there was any obvious mistake or if you liked it ^^


End file.
